


What Burdens Ease

by Sovin



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Background Mental Health Issues, Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Graduate School, Hair Brushing, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovin/pseuds/Sovin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is asexual and Grantaire has his own issues, but who really needs sex with so many other ways to make up for a bad day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Burdens Ease

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer applies.
> 
> Shameless, shameless fluff and cuddles. Nope, that's it. Enjolras had a rough day and now gets affection and hair brushing to make up for it.
> 
> Come say hey or ask (always welcome) questions over here on [my tumblr](http://www.sovinly.tumblr.com)!

One of the things that Enjolras loves most about this strange and relatively new relationship with Grantaire is simply the ability to come home and spend time with someone in a comfortable, easy way.

He invites him over at least half the nights of the week, and Grantaire always seems happy to indulge, coming over to cook for Enjolras and keep him company after his classes and various activities. Perhaps Enjolras doesn't have room to talk, between his coursework and organizing Les Amis, but he doesn't understand how Grantaire does so _much_ all the time and can stand perpetually moving, still. That isn't the point, though.

The point is that it's relaxing and _pleasant_ to sprawl out on the couch or the floor with the other man and work on his papers or pamphlets or keep abreast of their social media outreach while Grantaire sketches or, more likely, attempts to put his rambling thoughts on the classics (the Classic Classics or the modern ones) onto paper into something that might eventually be his dissertation. They might lean against one another or reach for one another's hands, or take a twenty-minute turned hour break to catch up or argue or just cuddle and rest their worn out eyes and racing thoughts, and sometimes Grantaire will stay the night, pressing a kiss to Enjolras' shoulder as they curl up under the comfortable, downy covers and take solace in the warm presence and even breathing of the other.

Tonight, though, is not one of those nights. Or it doesn't seem to be, when Enjolras heads for his apartment. He already has plans with Grantaire, yes, and the other man has probably let himself in and is cooking dinner, but Enjolras is just _tired_. It has been a mess of a day, full of almost proudly ignorant students and a suggestion from his adviser that he tone down the tenor of the paper he wants to submit to something less radical and spilled coffee on his favorite jacket, which is now at the dry cleaners because he didn't have any other option and it's cold and so, therefore, is Enjolras. He just wants today to be over and that it's Friday is little consolation.

As expected, he opens the door to find Grantaire humming happily in the kitchen, and even in his state of numb and bitter exhaustion, Enjolras can't help the weary smile at that. It's then that Grantaire looks over, starting to greet him when his eyes widen a little.

"Holy shit, Enjolras," he says, instead, hurrying over and drawing Enjolras in further, tenderly taking his face in his hands, calloused thumbs smoothing over his sharp cheekbones. "You're *freezing*. What happened?"

"My jacket had an unfortunate run in with a cup of coffee," he grumbles, or maybe mumbles with a vague hint of irritation, because he's drained and Grantaire's hands are warm, and he half closes his eyes as he leans into the other man's touch, shivering a little.

Grantaire's face scrunches up sympathetically, and Enjolras rather loves it even if it is ridiculous, not protesting when Grantaire gently propels him forward. "Go get changed. And put on a jacket or something, for fuck's sake. Dinner's almost done."

Enjolras drops a kiss on Grantaire's forehead before he obeys, trudging down the hall and feeling the sudden urge to drop his bag. It has his computer and a book borrowed from Combeferre, though, so he sets it down lightly and fumbles his way into warmer clothes, feeling better already. And he knows he's quiet during dinner, a severer silence than his usual serene reservation, but Grantaire doesn't push, simply fills the air with easy chatter, rambling and pointless, catching Enjolras up on Bossuet's latest misadventures and his trip to the market earlier.

He does, however, lightly touch Enjolras' shoulder when he rises to clean up, waving off an offer of help. He also has the indecency to look amused when he returns to find Enjolras slumped over the table with his head rested on his arms, blond curls spilling freely over his shoulders. Half heartedly scowling at Grantaire, he sighs. "I really don't want to start on work."

Grantaire chuckles at that, his eyes holding a fond and affectionate look as he offers out a hand. "It's Friday, my love, you have at least an evening of rest. Will you let me brush out your hair? We can put a film on after, if you like."

Enjolras can't help a little bit of a smile at that. He has never before liked other people touching his hair, let alone brushing it, but the undemanding intimacy and tenderness with which Grantaire does it makes him blush every time. "Well, if you insist."

He takes the hand and lets himself be pulled up, still savouring and cherishing every touch. It surprised him, originally, to realize that Grantaire could be finicky about being touched when he gave it so freely, but Enjolras is just glad he can, doesn't mind asking - he may not be interested in sex, but he firmly believes that continual, affirmed consent is important. (He didn't so much appreciate his friends hiding laughter the first time he agonized to them over accidentally making Grantaire startle and flinch because he'd been too quiet in coming up from behind).

They settle on Enjolras' bed, and it's one of the few luxuries he's allowed himself, piled high with blankets and exceedingly comfortable. He sighs softly as he folds his legs to sit, settling more at the comfortable weight of Grantaire's presence behind him. Grantaire murmurs a warning before gathering Enjolras' hair back from his shoulders, picking up his brush from the nightstand with his free hand.

It has taken some time to get used to, trusting someone to do this, but he enjoys and appreciates it. Grantaire is always incredibly careful, working out knots and brushing from the bottom up, Enjolras' hair streaming though his fingers like amber and honey in thick swirls. Enjolras lets his eyes slip most of the way shut, tightness seeping from his shoulders and faultless posture easing into something more comfortable until he can all but hear, feel, see Grantaire's quiet and satisfied smile curving up his mouth.

This, this is perhaps what he loves the most between them. When they'd first started to try, Enjolras had worried that his asexuality would cause problems. Not without reason, he thought, given that Grantaire always seemed willing to indulge in whatever pleasures might come his way. But, surprisingly, he'd not seemed to mind at all, and proved unexpectedly, pleasantly inventive in coming up with intimate gestures and moments that weren't sexual and never made Enjolras uncomfortable.

He'd asked, of course, and Grantaire had just smiled - more wry than self deprecating, but still pained enough that Enjolras had wanted to take his hand and offer reassurance - and pointed out that depression, managed by medication and therapy or no, was often quick to kill his sex drive. Enjolras hadn't expected that, but it makes a startling amount of sense, and he isn't going to complain because this is _nice_.

Contentment curls around him lazily each time they do something like this, or simply cuddle or sprawl in the other's lap or walk hand in hand through the winding streets of the city or rest their thighs together while they work or snag a quick cup of coffee between obligations. Enjolras never dreamed he could have this and he never wants to let it go, not the feel of Grantaire's rough fingers catching in his hair like on silk, or the warmth of him behind him, or the feel of their hands together, or chaste kisses affectionately given, or waking up to the sound of the alarm and the glow of the sunrise while tangled up entirely in one another.

The frustration and aching exhaustion from earlier has all but melted away by now, and Enjolras sighs as Grantaire twists his hair into an easy braid and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. Reaching back, he finds Grantaire's hand and squeezes, brings his hand up to kiss his knuckles, then looks over his shoulder with a smile. It makes him smile back, shyly, his eyes lighting up, and that just makes a little ball of warmth curl up in Enjolras' chest as he turns more fully. "Thank you, Grantaire."

"Anytime, Enjolras," he says, softly, and it's a promise that's full of a gentle weight.

"Are you still interested in a film? I think, perhaps, we can take a night for ourselves."

Grantaire laughs, but it's heartfelt and Enjolras smiles. They curl up on the bed with his laptop to find something to watch, half buried in blankets. His arm is starting to fall asleep, a little, under Grantaire's weight, but Enjolras just kisses the top of his head absently and thinks that he wouldn't trade this for anything in the world.


End file.
